


in for a penny, in for a pound

by K9_DFTBA



Series: Solare [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Gen, Italian!Tony Stark, Pre-Slash, Prequel, Stand Alone, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K9_DFTBA/pseuds/K9_DFTBA
Summary: Peter couldn’t stop his thoughts. It was as if he was falling without his webs, unable to stop. He pulled in on himself, eyes stinging.A door flew open in his path. Yellow light spilled onto the cold street, and a hand flew out, grabbing his shirt and pulling him in. A blanket was tossed around his shoulders and held there as he was shoved down into a squishy chair next to a family-style table.“Stop and breathe before you think yourself to death.”





	in for a penny, in for a pound

**Author's Note:**

> Important Info:  
> 1\. This is a Prequel to Solare, but can be read as STAND ALONE, just know that Tony stayed with Maria's family (The Carbonell family) for a while in Italy. After that, he and Matt opened a Cafe.  
> 2\. Time Line: This takes place after the dissolution of Nelson & Murdock, but the Defenders has not happened (yet?). Spidey: Homecoming did happen, just without Tony, how ever that would work. Peter is about 25, and all characterization and plots are a mix of different canons, so if something seems weird it's probably from a different universe.  
> 3\. Peter is Spider-Man, he's just talking in the 3rd person cause identity porn. 
> 
> I hope that's all. Byeeee <3

Peter cradled the broken mix of plastic, metal, and glass close to him, trying desperately to shield it from the rain. He could fix it, he knew he could, if he could just keep it from getting waterlogged. He stumbled along as the rain picked up. He didn’t even know how far away for his apartment he was—he wasn’t going to make it. Even if he did, he didn’t have a way to dry the parts, and even if he had the ability to fix it, did he have the tools?

 

These broken slivers that used to be his camera, they were his _livelihood._ He couldn’t make money without it. He would lose his apartment, and he couldn’t go back to May, wouldn’t put that strain on her…

He couldn’t stop his thoughts. It was as if he was falling without his webs, unable to stop. He pulled in on himself, eyes stinging, huddling further over the destroyed camera.

 

The heat would be the first thing to go, he thought, pulling his coat closer around him. His heating was the next bill, then after that power. He had less than a month to find a new camera, or get a new job, or he would-

A door flew open in his path. Yellow light spilled onto the cold street, and a hand flew out, grabbing his shirt and pulling him in. A blanket… made of old band t-shirts? The clearly homemade blanket was tossed around his shoulders and held there as he was shoved down into a squishy chair next to a family-style table.

 

“Stop and breathe before you think yourself to death,” a deep voice ordered, imperative but not harsh.

 

Peter looked up, finally, only to be met with a pair of dark red, circular sunglasses. Confused, Peter glanced around. Was he being punk’d? Finally, his eyes landed on a cane. _Oh._

 

“How did you even know…?” Peter asked.

 

“You were being loud,” the man said, body language become closed off, effectively ending Peter’s, admittedly probably rude, line of questioning.

 

In the moment, Peter did not consider that he had barely made any noise at all.

 

Pulling his arms out of the blanket, just barely, he finally let go of the broken camera pieces. His breath hitched quietly. The pieces hit the table with a dulled clatter.

 

The man tilted his head, as if listening. He brought his hand down to the pieces, touching them carefully. After a moment, he nodded, as if to say, _I’ve got this_.

 

He walked behind the counter of Peter’s haven, which he was now realizing was a moderately sized cafe, empty likely due to the low foot traffic in the bad weather. The man stuck his head into the back, having a quiet conversation with someone. After a moment, another figure emerged, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, covered lightly in what looked like motor-oil. Peter thought he looked familiar, but couldn’t place him.

 

When he spoke, Peter was even more thrown off. He had expected brashness, for some reason, yet in reality his voice was smooth and full of humor.

 

“What have we said about picking up strays, Matty?” he said, watching Peter thoughtfully.

 

Peter should probably be offended, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

 

“Says you,” Peter thought he heard the first man reply, with a chuckle.

 

The first man, Matty? Probably just Matt, walked over to the table where Peter sat. He got the impression the pair was not usually this reserved, and wasn’t sure, again, if he should be thankful or offended. He chose thankful.

 

“That’s my friend,” he said, gesturing with his head towards the man he had brought out from the back room, “Tony Carbonell, the owner. He’s got some tools in the back,” he said, allowing Peter to finish the thought himself.

 

“C’mon, kid, let’s see what we can do,” Mr. Carbonell called.

 

Peter got up and shuffled towards the back, leaving the blanket behind and murmuring a, “Thank you.”

 

Mr. Carbonell clapped him on the back and led him into what Peter had assumed to be the kitchen. And it was a kitchen, for a minute, but then, as they walked through a high-tech sealed door, it became what could only be described as an extensive laboratory. Peter dropped the camera on one of the few clear work spaces.

 

“This is… not what I was expecting,” Peter admitted, still a little mentally foggy but aware that a lab attached to a coffee shop was abnormal.

 

“Sure, sure,” Mr. Carbonell said, placating and inattentive, as he began fiddling with the camera pieces.

 

“Here, you work on that, I’ll work on this,” Mr. Carbonell said, removing the lense from the body and taking it to his own work space.

 

“I’m not sure that part can be fixed,” Peter said, referring to the lense, as he approached the body of the camera, carefully removing shards of glass from where the outer portion of the lense broke.

 

“Sure it can. I mean, I’m not an expert in cameras, but I could be an expert in everything if I wanted to,” Mr. Carbonell said.

 

Mr. Carbonell began typing away at a computer, a complex looking fabrication machine in front of it whirring in response. Peter began carefully removing a broken screw from the top of the body, when suddenly a drop of blood dripped from his hand onto the table top. Peter hadn’t realized he was bleeding from where some glass had embedded itself into his hand. The adrenalin had probably numbed the pain. He looked at his hands with interest. He heard steps behind him.

 

“Matty?” Tony asked, curious as to why he was approaching.

 

“He’s bleeding,” Matt said, as if it was a question.

 

Peter shrugged awkwardly.

 

“Stop being weird and get him the first aid kit then, you creep,” Mr. Carbonell said, turning back to his work with a fond huff.

 

Matt walked to the side of the room, lightly tapping the floor with his cane as he went. He pulled a, quite large, first aid kit from a cabinet, and came to sit beside him, reaching out for his hand for Peter’s. Carefully, he began cleaning the cuts, checking as he went for any that needed stitches. He was silent and intense as he worked, hands moving lightly and efficiently.

 

Mr. Carbonell, unaware of the intensity by which Peter was distracted, broke the silence.

 

“So, kid, what happened anyway?” he asked.

 

Peter stiffened, shoulders hunching. He was silent for a moment, but he figured he had little to lose.

 

“My boss… I work with the Daily Bugle, for J. Jonah Jameson… he gets… angry? I had set my camera on the desk, he was yelling and he hit the desk. The camera got knocked off. Usually I have good reflexes but I didn’t—“

 

“Hey, woah, woah, woah, definitely not your fault,” Mr. Carbonell said.

 

Matt said nothing for a moment as he began packing away the first aid kit. When it was done he stopped moving, and spoke levelly.

 

“Have you considered pressing charges?”

 

Peter shook his head quickly. To Matt it was a sign that he was afraid of doing so, as he had seen in many clients before, but as Peter began to explain his reasoning became clear.

 

“It's better that I don’t draw attention to what I do,” Peter said.

 

“What?” Mr. Carbonell asked, actually becoming still and giving Peter his full attention for the first time since they entered the lab.

 

Matt tilted his head in confusion.

 

“I’m the one who takes all those pictures of Spider-Man. It could be dangerous for me to be associated with him. For obvious reasons. Or so I’m told.”

 

“You’re Peter Parker,” Mr. Carbonell said, as if it was a revelation.

 

“See? Too much name recognition between the two of us already. No need to make it more,” Peter said, sounding defeated.

 

“I’d say we could be discreet but… let’s just say I’ve worked with journalists before,” Matt began, voice a said sort of humored, “they don’t do discreet.”

 

“Hey, we don’t refer to him as a journalist, not in my house,” Mr. Carbonell exclaimed, “And I hate journalists! And I still find that offensive to them! Hey, why does Spider-Man keep letting you take his picture for you to sell to people who paint him as a criminal?”

 

Peter shrugged.

 

“Because I’d be out of a job if he didn’t.”

 

“I’m not one to judge your photography skills,” Matt began, with a chuckle, “but there are other journalists in town. Real ones, who won’t be… verbally abusive.”

 

“Trust me, Matty, talent has nothing to do with it,” Mr. Carbonell said before Peter could respond, flipping through Peter’s virtual portfolio on the Bugle website.

 

Peter didn’t even know you could get to that without an employee access code. Weird.

 

“The subject is repetitive, obviously, but even I can tell these shots are… inventive. How much climbing did you have to do to get these?”

 

“You have no idea,” Peter said, darkly, and quiet enough that no one would hear, except, in reply to his comment, Matt laughed.

 

Huh.

 

“So, another job? An option?” Mr. Carbonell pushed.

 

“Quitting requires financial stability, also known as: not a luxury I have,” Peter replied, going back to work on the camera to avoid their gazes.

 

“But you’re a freelancer, can’t you sell to someone else on the side before making a complete switch?” Tony asked, never one for tact.

“Legally, yes. But Jameson likes exclusivity in his freelancers.”

 

“Doesn’t that--” Mr. Carbonell began.

 

“Defeat the purpose? Yeah. But I’m a broke, twentysomething artist. He can do whatever he wants to me.”

 

Peter felt Matt shift beside him. Peter felt a barely-there tingle in the back of his mind, as if his spidey-sense was unsure if there was any danger.

 

“Oh calm down, Matty, your righteous aura is showing,” Mr. Carbonell teased, watching Matt carefully.

 

Matt looked in Mr. Carbonell's direction, as if trying to separate himself from the situation, let out a long breath, and then turned back to Peter.

 

“I have an old-- a contact, rather-- at the New York Bulletin. She’ll see about getting you a more permanent job there. You get it, you quit, deal?”

 

“But that’s real journalism, I’m not--”

 

“Can it, kid,” Mr. Carbonell said, gruffly, “I say you’re good enough, you’re good enough. That deal though, not good enough. You quit _now_. You need money, you work here, we were looking for some help anyway.”

 

Peter looked at him, disbelieving, incredulous.  

 

“Go check the sign on the front window if you don’t believe me.”

 

Peter walked out of the back room for a moment.

 

Matt looked towards him, to show his confusion.

 

“He can _never know_ about the hologram system in the windows.” he said.

 

A laugh was startled out of Matt, as he realized that Tony had remotely put a ‘help wanted’ sign in the window via a hologram system that was entirely too complex for a normal cafe.

 

Peter walked back in, looking nearly convinced, but not quite there.

 

“Matt, I think he needs more convincing,” Mr. Carbonell narrated.

 

“It’s easy work. You get free food. Not many customers, mostly just hipsters and second generation italians who want Tony’s food because it's authentic, just like their _Nonna_ s made it.”

 

Peter groaned.

 

“Man, you can’t just _say_ free food to a broke kid, that’s, like, manipulation. And authentic? Your accent is pretty neutral, but it’s definitely American,” Peter said, and, _damn_ , he was just out to offend these people, wasn’t he?

 

“Kid, I am a fucking cameleon,” Mr. Carbonell said, all serious.

 

There was a stiff moment, and then… he was laughing loudly, mannerisms more pronounced. He approached Peter, clapping him on the back as he had before, before a long string of alien words poured out of his mouth. He glowed, and Peter imagined the words must taste like honey for how happy they seemed to make him.

 

“Wow! What the shit! That’s so cool! Can you teach me?” Peter said, excited.

 

And, wow, wait to go Peter, he thought. That’s one way to break the ice, lay all your nerd out on the line.

 

Matt laughed quietly, and suddenly, Peter thought maybe completely embarrassing himself with his enthusiasm was worth it for that laugh.

 

What the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound, or whatever the fuck the saying was.

 

“When I was in school, I tried to take a bunch of extra language electives, cause I loved them so much, but they wouldn’t let me. I ended up in Latin, cause I wanted to be a biochemist and I thought it would help,” Peter said, and paused to give a self-deprecating laugh, “that’s before I knew you had to have money to make money.”

 

Matt made a noise of discontent, but thankfully Mr. Carbonell brushed past the subject.

 

“Biochemistry? You read Banner’s most recent work?”

 

Peter’s internal screeching almost became external screeching at the mere mention. _No one_ read Banner. Or, no one he knew. Then again, no one he knew read any scientific research, so the bar was pretty low.

 

“ _Yes_!” Peter exclaimed.

 

“It made me feel stupid. I have never felt stupid before. I became an expert in gamma radiation overnight just to understand it.”

 

“I know! There was so much jargon and shit, I don’t even think he knows he’s doing it.”

 

Mr. Carbonell was pacing, excited energy pouring from him.

 

“It was incomprehensible without having read every one of his old papers,” he said, looking as if he might start pulling his hair out.

 

“He’s operating on such a high level that what seems like basic knowledge to him takes _lifetimes_ to understand. He probably lives this stuff,” Peter said, almost yelling.

 

“Sounds like he’s so smart he doesn’t realize most people don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about,” Matt said, so very dry.

 

“Exactly!” Peter exclaimed, completely missing the humor in what he had said.

 

Matt had no idea what they were talking about. Regardless, he leaned back and enjoyed the show. It was rare Tony got someone to talk to about this. He had abandoned that life.

 

“I met him at a conference once, and I don’t think I’ve ever—“ He said, before becoming aware of himself and cutting off.

 

“You were at a conference with him? What--” Peter began, looking around the lab at the projects, plunging his mind to determine who this man was to have worked with Bruce Banner.

 

Peter had worked with him a few times and he was still a nobody, of course, but smashing and sciencing were different. This guy got to _science_ . He studied the projects quickly, eyes catching on, of all things, a screen blinking with only a few lines of code. It was an AI, and hidden within the code was the creator identification. _Stark_.

 

Peter’s eyes grew very large, eyes glued to the screen. Mr. Carbonell looked at the computer.

 

“JARVIS? What are you showing him? Stop that right now, or I’ll donate you to MIT,”  he said, walking around to read what Peter had seen.

 

He froze.

 

“Stark,” Peter whispered, “You’re… You’re Tony Fucking Stark.”

 

“Don’t say that, he’ll legally change his middle name to fucking if you give him the idea,” Matt said, neither reasonably concerned or surprised by the situation.

 

Matt stood up while the other two were still frozen.

 

“You are taking the job. I’m going to make that call to the Bulletin,” he said, before leaving the room.

 

Peter unfroze suddenly.

 

“Mr. Stark, it’s really an honor--”  

 

“Please don’t call me that. If you won’t call me Mr. Carbonell, at least call me Tony,” He said, and, despite sounding aggravated, he had a warm smile on his face.

 

He held his hand out, and they shook. Peter couldn’t remember the last time he was offered a handshake. He wasn’t very accustomed to respect.

 

“Alright, Tony.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It must be important for you to let me into you secret inner sanctum,” Karen joked, waving about her unoccupied hand more sedately than she might have when they were on better terms.

“It’s not a secret, Karen. We’re open at least twelve hours a day. 24 if you knock loud enough for Tony to hear over the music.”

 

Karen looked confused. She hadn’t realized how it felt to be apart of those intimate inside jokes that poured from Matt until she didn’t understand them, hadn’t realized how dedicated he was to knowing the people he loved until she wasn’t one.

 

Sensing her confusion by her lack of reply, he explained, “He’s an insomniac of the worst kind. He’s lucky we don’t have neighbors with the hours he keeps.”

 

As if to prove the point, Tony emerged from the back room, sound pouring out as he opened the door. Noticing them looking, he spoke.

 

“Hey, were you gossiping about me? Stop talking behind my back, Matty. This isn’t another stray, is it? We’ve talked about this. A lot,” Tony said, a whirlwind as usual.

 

“Matty?” Karen whispered, unused to not knowing the people Matt was close with.

 

But it had been over a year, and the world had always moved fast around Matt, not by his choice, just by the nature of his presence. He had changed her life in ten minutes, she should have expected he would do it for others.

“Tony, this is Karen Page, Karen, this is Tony Carbonell, he owns this cafe,” Matt introduced.

 

“Is that all I am to you, the owner?” Tony began, in mock outrage.

 

Matt settled in for a speech; Tony was on the cusp of a new discovery, and therefore was in a dramatic mood.

 

“Not your platonic life partner? Your confidant? Not even your business partner?” Tony asked, accent almost sneaking its way into his voice, not stopping it in his enthusiasm.

 

“Karen, this is Tony Carbonell, my business partner,” Matt said, dryly as humanly possible.

 

He turned to Tony, “Also, the strays are _not my fault._ That is on you.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Tony said, placating.

 

Matt huffed, before motioning for him to leave. 

 

“Get out of here, I’m trying to tell her about Peter.”

 

Tony held up his arms in surrender, and backed out of the room.

 

“Sorry about that,” Matt said, sounding more amused than apologetic.

 

“It’s alright, so, tell me about this photographer,” she said.

 

“His name is Peter, Peter Parker. He’s been working for the Bugle for nine years-- he was only sixteen when he started.”

 

“Job security like that, why’s he taking the risk of switching? Jameson doesn’t take kindly to this sort of thing.”

“I’m not sure he takes well to anything,” Matt said, anger radiating from him.

 

“Woah, come back from the dark side, Matt,” she said, and paused, “You get him to press charges?” she asked, making the leap based on his reaction.

 

“No, but if you want to give it a try, be my guest,” he said, taking off his glasses and running a hand through his hair in aggravation,

 

When he finally looked back up, Karen found him raw and exposed.

 

“Look, I’m not just asking because I want him to have a safe job. I do, of course, but he already has that here. I really believe he has something to say, not just turning in pictures of Spider-Man and living paycheck to paycheck.”

 

Karen was quiet for a moment, considering. Matt heard the door to the lab swing open, and knew Peter would be emerging from the kitchen any moment.

 

“Besides, I know you want the story. A chance to write the real story of Spider-Man,” Matt said, knowing Peter would hear this part.

 

“You’re right, I’ll give you that,” she said, as Peter approached.

 

“And Deadpool, too,” Peter said, as he refilled their mugs, before gesturing for Matt to scoot in so he could sit down next to him.

 

“What?” asked Matt.

 

They sat close, Karen noticed. Peter took a big sip of his drink before answering.

 

“I mean, anyone with two eyes knows Spidey is a good guy. He’s just a friendly neighborhood dude, he returns stolen bikes and stuff, but Deadpool is a real story.”

 

“But isn’t he a mercenary?” She asked, interest piqued.

 

Matt sat back and watched, imagining this to be the beginning of a controlled burn forest fire.

 

“Was. He stopped killing people, still takes money when offered. But, make an investigation of when he did kill people, there’s a truth we don’t want to hear.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He was a government operative for much longer than we have been lead to believe. And after? Child molesters, abusive husbands, sex traffickers, the real scum were his only targets. He’s no Spider-Man, but there’s a moral compass in there somewhere,” Peter said.

 

“And he doesn’t kill anymore?”

 

Peter blushed, which was odd.

 

“So I’m told. I believe it, though others don’t seem to be getting the message,” Peter said, before huffing a laugh, “You know the Devil won’t even let him into the Kitchen?” he said, shaking with contained laughter, “Spidey keeps patrolling there, just to annoy him. It's so funny.”

 

“The Devil?” Karen said, raising an eyebrow of which Peter could not understand the full extent, “You know him too?”

 

“Nah, only of him. Mostly from how beat up Spider-Man and ‘Pool are when they have to clean up his mess. You know anything goes outside the Kitchen, he just lets them be? He won’t let DP in to help, but he’s perfectly fine with them getting pounded by his mess as long as it's not in his borough.The fist dude is fighting a dragon or something like that, but even he’s worked with Spider-Man before. The Devil is like a dog with his territory, and it fucking antiquated,” Peter ranted.

 

Karen broke into sharp peels of laughter suddenly. Matt looked shocked.

 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, that was so unprofessional. I guess you can only hear the same rant so many times before you start repeating it,” Peter said, with a shrug, “I support what the Devil is doing, but if I have to patch Spidey up from another round of his ninjas I might actually have to go to nursing school.”

 

Karen laughed again. Matt, inexplicably, was pouting.

 

“What the hell, you’ve got the job,” she said, seemingly charmed by his antics, “but only on the condition that you act as source and photographer for the Spider-Man story, and as a co-writer for Deadpool.”

 

She reached out to shake his hand. Peter hesitated, cringing.

 

“Isn’t it dangerous to have my name associated with that many vigilantes?”

 

Karen waved him off.

 

“You’ll be anonymous as a source, we can give you a pseudonym for the writing, and you’re already known as Spider-Man’s photographer.”

 

“Isn’t this kind of a big deal? Do you have the authority to hire me for all this?”

 

“I guess we’ll find out. In for a penny, in for a pound, and all that,” Karen said.

 

She reached out for a handshake, and, this time, he took it.

 

“My thoughts exactly.”       

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I only wrote this because the comments on the last one inspired me, so if you have any ideas, come talk to me in the comments! Or if you don't!  
> This is for sure going to be Team Red in upcoming installments, btw. I'd like to get the next one out soon, but I'm not going to commit to a date or anything. I want to bring the whole fam together in the series, really get the warm fuzzy holiday feelings in there. 
> 
> Happy Holidays!  
> ~K


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